


Written on the Bathroom Wall

by romanticalgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a good time, call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written on the Bathroom Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 9-8-05

Fred doesn’t look over his shoulder as he slips through the door. If he looks, he’ll seem suspicious, and then other people will wonder what exactly he’s doing slipping through a door that’s not there and there will be questions he doesn’t want to answer, so he simply moves through as if he’s supposed to be there and supposed to be doing what he’s doing.

Which he isn’t.

The hallway is small and tight and barely big enough for him, though he manages to slip and duck and slither his way through it. He’s been down this path a few times before – not as many as he’d like, but more than he’ll actually own up to – so he knows the bends and the strange, sharp stalactites that loom down toward him as if they’re protecting the way from outsiders such as himself.

He dodges the very last of them and presses up against the stone wall, his breath catching somewhere in his throat. This is the most dangerous bit of all, and he’s not anxious to get caught. It’s not that it wouldn’t be expected of him, or that anyone would be all that shocked – though McGonagall’s face would be more punishment than anyone else could mete out – except it’s not as if he’s just spying on random girls.

He’s spying on Hermione.

He knows it’s wrong for several reasons, not the least of which is that Hermione is desperately in love with Ron, even though Ron’s not got a thought in his head about her. There’s also the fact that his mum keeps droning on how Hermione’s like family and they should treat her like a sister. Of course, Mum’s always been smarter than most people gave her credit for, so perhaps she’s seen the look in his eye that he can’t quite hide when Hermione runs around their house in too-tight jeans or flirty little sundresses or thin cotton pajamas that don’t quite hide the fact that she’s growing up.

Besides, Ginny’s his sister and in his head, she’ll always be a pesky six year old tattling on him and George with wide eyes and a knowing smile. Hermione’s never been six in his head. She’s always been burgeoning on sixteen and legal and he knows that he’s going to spend this summer rotting in a special kind of hell when she comes to visit with her thinning figure and growing breasts and he really needs to stop thinking about this or he’s liable not to make it to his destination.

He slips through the last curve of the tunnel and sees the wall. He doesn’t know who charmed it so long ago, though his mind immediately conjures up the old picture of Sirius Black that Remus showed him once. He seems the type to have done this, though he never asked and Remus never told. He feels the edge of the flat surface and finds the incantation with his fingers. He whispers the words and the rock wall shimmers, fading into the steamy promise of the Prefect’s bath.

He knows she’s here – he’s practiced this, timed it. He can almost smell the steam and whatever scent it is that rises off her skin afterwards when she eases through the portrait hole almost past curfew. He always lingers in the common room, takes her exasperated chastisement when she finds him there, simple to see her damp tangle of hair, her plain blue robe and the ridiculous fuzzy slippers that cover skin flushed pink from the heat. He always offers her a smile, which she fights not to return, and a goodnight kiss, which she greets with a snort of knowing disapproval. He always walks too close and inhales then blows a kiss as he makes his way toward bed. She always blushes a little brighter and hurries to her room.

But here and now she’s standing off to the side, watching the water swirl in the huge bath. She’s still dressed, though her hair’s been pulled back in a low knot at the base of her neck. Her fingers slide up the row of buttons on her shirt, then she tugs at her tie, loosening it. He doesn’t breathe as she pulls it away from her skin, leaving it dangling around her neck as she runs her fingers up and down the buttons a few times before unfastening them slowly, one by one, her eyes closed. The fabric of the shirt parts and he bites his lip at the sight of pale, creamy skin. He thinks for a second she’s almost too thin, but then his thoughts are swept away as she tugs the tie over her head and slips out of the shirt, leaving him staring at the white curves of her bra standing out starkly even on her pale skin.

She lets her shirt fall and then unhooks her bra, no longer taking her time. Her eyes are still closed as it joins the shirt on the tile and she brings her hands around, fingers skimming over her stomach and up to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples are hard, harder as she pinches them lightly, caressing her breasts in slow, delicate circles that make his hands ache and his cock ache. She gives her nipples one last soft pinch then presses her palms to her stomach, sliding them down to the waistband of her skirt.

She unzips it and wiggles her hips, sending her pert breasts dancing slowly as the skirt pirouettes to the floor. Her knickers follow, her hands smoothing them down over her thighs. She straightens and lets her hands run back up the long stretch of flesh then she angles them in so the smooth down over the top curve of the thigh to the apex of her legs and the dark tangle of hair. She shudders in time with him as he scrambles to undo his flies, fighting to be silent in the wake of her.

Hermione reaches over and turns the water off, bending toward him. Her breasts move with her body in ways foreign to him, but natural and his tongue swipes across his lips in the desire to taste the hard, red tips. She straightens again and slowly steps into the hot water, sitting on the edge of the bath. She shivers as the heat climbs through her and inhales. Her hands curl around the edge of the tub and he waits, wondering if she’ll sink into it like last night or if she’ll…

He gasps as she parts her legs, his hand fisting around his cock. Her hands feather over her inner thigh before slipping down to part the red flesh between her legs. Two fingers hold it apart as a third teases over her clit, flickering over the hard nub slowly. Her head tilts back and she takes a deep breath, her breasts rising with the motion. Her fingers slide down, over her clit to the darkened flesh, thrust inside her slowly. Fred bites back a groan as he finally allows his hand to start moving, imagining it’s her body instead of his hand around his cock, his cock instead of her hand inside of her.

Hermione bites her lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly in the steam and the heat and the quick, hard thrusts of her hand. Her thumb moves over her clit as she spreads her legs farther, inching toward the edge of the bath to thrust her fingers deeper. He can barely breath as his hand moves in time with hers. He braces himself on the wall with one hand to keep from collapsing as his muscles stiffen and his cock hardens and his knees grow weak.

She’s gasping now, he can see her mouth open as she breathes. Her breasts are mesmerizing, but his eyes stay on the rapid thrust of her hand, the glisten of moisture on her fingers as they keep moving. Moisture coats his hand as he strokes his cock and his fingers curl against the stone as she shudders and comes around her fingers, his own cock spilling his orgasm at his feet.

Hermione eases her hand away slowly then paints her nipples with the thick liquid, pinching them again to rosy tips before sinking into the hot water. He imagines her sigh of relief and relaxation as the bubbles envelop her and the rock slowly transforms back to dark black stone before him. He rests his head against the wall and shudders in the aftermath, finally fumbling for his wand and cleaning the evidence of his transgression away.

His walk back through the tunnel is slower, weaker. Something akin to shame layers on him and he reminds himself the entire long walk back that she’s not his, can’t be his. That if he loved her or even cared about her, he wouldn’t betray her trust like this, wouldn’t violate her. He slips out into the hallway and makes his way back to Gryffindor, his gaze locked on his feet.

“I asked, you know.”

He starts, surprised to see Hermione, flushed and smelling of something exotic, as she fell in step beside him. “Asked?”

“Remus. I asked him who charmed the wall.”

Heat rushes through him and he stumbles, stopping to stare at her with uncomprehending yet hopeful eyes. “Oh.”

“I assumed it was Sirius. Seems the sort of thing he would do.” Fred merely nods, lost for words. “Seems it was Lily. Time alone with James was tough, so she thought she’d give him an eyeful.” She smiles at him, impishly, wickedly, as she walks away, her hips swaying with promise. “Lily always was very good at Charms, Remus said.”

 


End file.
